


The Hidden Message

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Eventual relationship, Failed Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After yet another failed relationship, Derek turns to Stiles for help. Feeling miserable, insecure and worthless, he needs someone to talk to who won’t judge of brag about their perfect relationship with their significant other.<br/>Mid-way through his confession, Stiles walks over to the nearby bookshelf and pulls out Scrabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hidden Message

After yet another failed relationship, Derek found himself alone and lonely. More so than he had ever felt before. He was feeling miserable, insecure and worthless. He needed someone to talk to who won’t judge him of brag about their perfect relationship with their significant other. He wanted to sit with someone and unload his emotional burden, and when he didn’t want to talk, he wanted someone he could just sit with.

And that is how it came to pass that he was sitting on one end of the couch staring at the polished concrete floor as he listened to the clatter of cups and spoons and the gushing steam of the kettle as Stiles made Derek a cup of coffee – which Derek had agreed to after twenty minutes of non-stop pleading and pouting. Stiles carefully carried the mug into the open space of the loft, carefully shuffling towards Derek.

The beta took the mug from the boy and thanked him.

That was how it started: Derek had been feeling worse than usual and he asked Stiles – the only non-judgmental single person he knew – out for coffee. They didn’t talk, just sat in the presence of one another.

From that point on, it became an unspoken agreement to meet up at the loft. Derek often refused to let Stiles make him a cup of coffee, but there were days when Stiles can tell how wrecked Derek is, and so the boy made him the beverage and sat with him on the old couch. Sometimes they’d talk – about their day, about Stiles’ homework, about what was troubling them, or about anything but what was wrong – and sometimes they’d sit in comfortable silence.

It was simple.

It was exactly what Derek needed.

Derek sipped at his coffee, tasting the sweetened liquid while Stiles sat down on the other end of the grey couch and turned to face Derek. He crossed his lanky legs in front of him and waited to see what kind of a day it was.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Derek muttered.

Stiles looked up at him. His eyes glittered like amber as they reflected the orange glow of the setting sun. They were calm and comforting, encouraging Derek to continue.

“Every time I find someone I believe I love, they turn out to be sociopaths, murderers or bounty hunters. Why can I not just find someone normal? Someone with no secret or ulterior motives. Someone I can just get along with and feel comfortable enough to be myself around them.”

“Not everyone’s like Kate, or Jennifer, or Braedon,” Stiles assured him, his argument quickly derailing. He took a second before getting back on track. “What if it’s just karma?”

“What did I do wrong?” Derek asked, pained.

“No, not what you’ve done, but what’s going to happen. So you have a stockpile of negative karma that teaches you how to appreciate the good thing that is to come.”

“I admire your optimism,” Derek admitted.

“Would you prefer Isaac’s pessimism?”

“Hell no,” Derek chuckled. His soft smile quickly faded. “I’m just tired of waiting. I’m tired of looking around and only getting the rotten apples of the group.”

Stiles nodded and rose from his seat. He crossed the loft and stood before one of Derek’s bookshelves. His chocolate brown eyes ran over the shelves before he settled on pulling out a Scrabble set. He carefully placed it on the table, encouraging Derek to continue talking as he unboxed the board and tiles and set them all up.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, frowning sceptically at the boy’s movements. He rose to his feet and followed Stiles over to his desk, sipping at his coffee before setting it atop the metal surface.

“Life is a game,” the boy replied, not really answering the question. “We might as well take as much control of it as we can, and if we can’t then we’ll at least get some enjoyment out of it.”

Derek was still confused, but he trusted that Stiles knew what he was doing. He took a few steps closer and sat down in the chair opposite Stiles. He took the small rack of letters that the boy offered him.

“How does it work?” Derek inquired, frowning at the small ebony tiles.

“We make sense of what we have, try and piece together as many words as you can,” Stiles explained. “And if you need to borrow some letters, like a y for sympathy, then you can have mine.”

Derek looked up at the boy and smiled sweetly. Stiles was a lot like him – never able to say the right words when he needed to, and just like how Derek wished he could tell the boy how grateful he was for his compassion, understanding and presence.

“And what if I find L-O-V-E?”

“Then you win,” Stiles replied.

Derek sat back and looked at his selected letters thoughtfully. He shuffled them back and forth across the small rack before he read out, “SUNKDIF.”

Stiles stifled his laughter but let out a small snort.

Derek looked up at him with glittering eyes and shrugged. He sat back in his chair and whispered, “I guess I’ll just have to keep looking.”

 

 

A few weeks – and many games of Scrabble – later, Stiles received a text from Derek.

 

Need to see you.

Meet me at the loft.

It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.

Just please come alone.

 

Stiles frowned at his phone, scrutinising the text from any inconsistencies in Derek’s message: some sort of clue that he had sent it at gunpoint or that someone else had written it. But there were none.

Stiles was reluctant and suspicious – and a little curious – as he heeded to the request and pulled up out the front of the large industrious building.

His footsteps were light as he climbed up the stairs, trying to sneak quietly up the rusted metal plates: just in case Derek was being held captive.

When he arrived out the front of Derek’s loft, he pressed his ear to the door, listening. Silence.

Whether that set him at ease of made his anxiety worse, Stiles couldn’t tell; his heart was a constant pounding pain against his ribs.

He took a deep breath and hurled open the heavy iron door. He stepped into the loft.

Empty.

Silent.

Everything was in its place.

There were no bloodstains or signs of struggle.

And there was no Derek.

Stiles looked about the open space.

“Derek?” he called out, his voice breaking slightly under the strain of fear.

He took a few more steps into the open room, surveying the area. His eyes fell upon the Scrabble board that had been set up on Derek’s desk, in the centre of the room.

The small ebony tiles had been set out deliberately, spelling out words that made Stiles heart skip as he leant over the edge of the desk to read them.

 

I FOUND LOVE

I FOUND YOU

WHAT DO YOU SAY

 

Beside the board sat a small rack with five tiles set out on it – a blank and four letters. Even with the blank tile, it was easy to make out the two responses: YES or NO.

Stiles reach forward and collected the tiles, listening to them clatter in his trembling hand and across the surface of the board as he set them out beneath Derek’s confession, spelling out his reply the way he wish he had said it years ago.

 

YES

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
